


A Taste of Desire

by Pereybere



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Birthday, Desire, F/M, First Time, Love, Romance, Sex, Word prompt, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pereybere/pseuds/Pereybere
Summary: Word prompt: DESIRE.His fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I’ve been a presumptuous pain in the ass since the day you met me.” He kissed her then – an altogether different kiss to the chaste one they’d shared at midnight some months back. He tasted of wine and desire.





	A Taste of Desire

Title: A Taste of Desire

 

Author: Pereybere

 

Rating: T / R

 

Category: MSR

 

Disclaimer: Not mine. No infringement intended.

 

Spoilers: Millennium

 

Summary: His fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I’ve been a presumptuous pain in the ass since the day you met me.” He kissed her then – an altogether different kiss to the chaste one they’d shared at midnight some months back. He tasted of wine and desire.

 

Author’s Note: So it's Sunday and as promised Shazza777 and I will be posting new 'prompt fics' every Sunday. This story was written for the prompt “Desire” which was given to me by Shazza777. She openly admits that this was a ploy to get me to write an NC-17 story, sneaky minx. I decided not to go all explicit in this story, but there’s still some sex so caution advised. This week I gave her the story prompt “Shock” so don’t forget to keep an eye out her submission today. It's called “The Morning After”.

 

*****

 

Saturday, 23rd February

9.45pm

 

Her birthday had fallen on a Saturday this year, which at first had seemed fortuitous. Getting older was not, as far as Dana Scully was concerned, something to celebrate. So she’d planned to vegetate in front of the television all day in her oldest t-shirt, baggy sweat pants and a pair of slipper socks emblazoned with exploding pink hearts. In theory, it had sounded like the perfect weekend.

 

About an hour ago her mood had soured significantly when she realised, at almost eight pm, that Fox Mulder had let her birthday pass without even so much as a text message. Her brothers had messaged, one line sentiments indicative of two men who had been prompted by their spouses to text their sister on this, her thirty-sixth birthday. Of course her mother had called, moments before an enormous bouquet of flowers had arrived. Throughout the day, well-wishes came sporadically from old acquaintances – but nothing from Mulder. Not a single word from the man she’d shared seven years of her life with – who had kissed her less than two months ago as they rang in the new millennium together.

 

Rankled, she’d switched off the television and began the task of washing her dishes – a little more forcefully than necessary. Tonight would’ve been an ideal evening to visit the shooting range to practice her marksman skills. Truthfully, she didn’t really know _why_ his forgetfulness bothered her so much. Maybe it was because she’d never missed a single one of his birthdays, not once in the years they’d worked together. Maybe it was because she’d assumed something had shifted in the wake of their New Year’s Eve kiss. Alright, the kiss had lasted eight seconds – she’d counted – but it had _definitely_ been more significant than two partners ringing in the millennium together.

 

Drying her hands, Scully thought about opening the bottle of chardonnay in her fridge, but she’d always considered drinking alone to be almost sad – suggestive of a lonely, friendless life. Which, she supposed, wasn’t altogether inaccurate. In the last seven years she’d distanced herself from her old friends, even those she’d been closest to throughout college and medical school. Now she’d made an island of herself, marooned with Fox Mulder in a world consumed with shadowy men and conspiracies.

 

Was it really so sad that she would indulge in a glass of wine on her thirty-sixth birthday? Scully hesitated by the fridge, pulling open the door to examine the paltry contents. She worked away a lot, so the shelves of her refrigerator contained foods that didn’t spoil quickly and whatever groceries she had purchased for the weekend. The bottle of golden wine, chilled and unopened, looked very tempting – and it might just soften her bad mood.

 

Sighing, she grabbed the neck of the bottle and a punnet of fresh strawberries.

 

As she settled on the sofa and reached for the remote control, wondering idly if there were any good movies on, she was jolted from her musings by a knock at the door. Glancing at the clock, she instinctively knew that no one except Mulder would call this late at night. Then she wondered if 9pm really constituted as _late_. Somewhere in the city young people were just beginning their fun-filled evenings of frolicking and wild abandon. Scully smirked to herself. She had not ever lived with abandon.

 

Mulder stood in the hallway in a pair of black jeans, an olive green t-shirt and a leather jacket. Like this, he always took her breath away just a little and it had taken years of restraint to disguise the flutter in her stomach. It had taken very little effort at all to force those feelings deep inside, because if there was one thing Scully was not prepared to do it was jeopardise their friendship. She wasn’t willing to make a move without being absolutely _certain_ they were on the same page. As it was, Mulder remained entirely focused on his crusade.

 

“Hi,” she said, inwardly cringing at the breathy croak of her voice. He was a truly magnificent specimen of masculinity, which any woman with even minimal oestrogen had to admit. “What’s up?”

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Mulder replied, as though they had a prearranged date organised.

 

“Late for what?” Scully asked, stepping aside to permit him inside. He clocked the bottle of wine almost immediately, his gaze settling there for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “I was just watching TV,” she rambled, embarrassed. Did she look as pathetic as she felt, sitting home alone on her birthday? Did he look at her with pity?

 

“I had to go to Rhode Island,” said Mulder as she closed the door. He smelled of the cold wintry air and a heady musk that she always associated with him – a woodiness, like sandal and pine. It took all her long-held restraint to resist the temptation to breathe him deep into her lungs.

 

“Rhode Island? Do we have a case?” She almost hoped they did. Her apartment no longer had the comforting familiarity of a home because they spent so much of their lives in ramshackle motels – the best they could afford on an FBI budget.

 

“No, nothing like that. Can I sit?” Mulder shook off his jacket, hanging it on the antique coat-stand she’d bought eight years ago at a flea market. Scully watched him closely, a little worried. He seemed... nervous, an uncharacteristic display in the man she’d known to ooze confidence in just about every situation. His cheeky demeanour was replaced by straight-faced sobriety, and the absence of his humorous charm unsettled her.

 

“Of course. What’s going on, Mulder?” She padded into the kitchen in her ridiculous socks, marginally embarrassed to be caught wearing them. He seemed not to notice as she retrieved a second wine glass and returned to the living room. “Why were you in Rhode Island?”

 

“The family summer house is in Quonochontaug, remember?”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” The Mulder family had grown up in a very different league of wealth to the Scully family. They had properties in the nicest north-eastern states, from Rhode Island to Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts. The Scullys didn’t have a summer house – they had homes on naval bases and shared bedrooms until they left the family home for college. Bill and Charlie in the bigger room – because they were boys, Melissa and Dana in the smaller room with bunk-beds. “Why were you there?” she asked, pouring him a glass of wine. Mulder preferred a robust red wine, but she bought only white.

 

“I wanted to get something for you,” Mulder replied, accepting the glass without remark.

 

“For me?” Scully was perplexed, and the mystery shrouding his impromptu journey to Rhode Island was only deepening with each passing moment. “You went to Quonochontaug _today_?”

 

“This morning, yes.”

 

“It must have been important,” Scully mused aloud. “You hate going there.”

 

“I do, but I remembered something my mother used to have – a family heirloom – and I wanted give it to you. For your birthday.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved a neatly wrapped box. The paper was shiny gold, with HAPPY BIRTHDAY emblazoned across the surface. He’d wrapped the entire thing with a silvery bow, and curled the edges. Scully’s heart squeezed as she accepted the gift.

 

“Is it a keychain?” she asked with a smile.

 

“No, it’s not,” Mulder chuckled. “Open it.”

 

She felt inexplicably nervous. The box was ring-sized – and she knew in her heart there was no such bauble contained within – yet some part of her psyche, some long-buried girlish desire longed to snap open the box and discover a glittering token of undying love.

 

“Are you alright?” Mulder asked, leaning forward to study the hot blotches on her cheeks.

 

“I’m fine,” Scully said, drawing strength into her voice. She tore off the bow and removed the paper with just enough precision to note the impatience in Mulder when he shifted on the seat, like a giddy schoolboy awaiting praise from his teacher. She smiled to herself, running her thumb across the blue velveteen jewellery box.

 

The hinges made a creaking sound as she opened it. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered when she glimpsed a pair of gorgeous amethyst earrings, cushion-cut and surrounded by vintage diamonds. The facets reflected the light, glinting brilliantly in a rainbow of colours. “Mulder... these are exquisite.”

 

“They belonged to my grandmother and then my mother. I asked her and she said she’d love for you to have them.” He smiled openly. “Amethyst is your birthstone. February.”

 

“Yes... yes it is.” Scully felt tears prick her eyes. She kept her head down, worried that her reaction would appal him. “They’re just perfect.”

 

“They’re art-deco, from the 1920s. They’re only set in silver, but the stones are excellent quality.” She wouldn’t have cared if his mother had won them at a carnival; they were the most beautiful things she’d ever received.

 

“Mulder... I don’t know what to say. You’re sure your mother is fine with this?” She glanced up, meeting his gaze for a second.

 

“Of course.”

 

She stood up, crossing the room to the mirror. Removing the simple pearls she wore, Scully replaced them with the amethyst earrings, tucking her hair behind her ear to examine them in the lamplight. “They’re magnificent,” she whispered, angling her head. “Thank you, Mulder.”

 

“You’re welcome.” He peered into the glass in his hand. “Still drinking this vinegar, Scully? I thought your tastes had evolved.”

 

She smiled, turning away from the mirror. “I’ll always be a chardonnay kind of girl, Mulder.”

 

“Happy Birthday, Scully.” He lifted his glass in salute to her, grinning back. She touched the stones in her ears, her heart unexpectedly filled with joy. Fifteen minutes ago she’d been morose, questioning the trajectory of her life and now, just as easily as flicking a light switch, Mulder had transformed her mood. It wasn’t good, she knew, allowing herself to be so utterly dependant on another human being – especially one as unpredictable as Fox Mulder – but she couldn’t help it; he’d become entwined in the fabric of her being. “You look beautiful.”

 

She glanced sharply at him then, blushing from her cheeks all the way to the toes that were ensconced in pink fluff. “I’m alright for a thirty-six year old maid, I suppose.”

 

“I’m forty this year, Scully. Still single, still pursuing shadows and lies.”

 

She sat beside him then, closer than she normally would have. Their knees brushed, and on any other day she might have shifted to widen the gap between their bodies. Tonight, she wanted to be as close to his warmth and his intoxicating scent as possible. “It’s your passion, Mulder. Your greatest desire in life is to uncover the truth.”

 

As she tidied the torn wrapping paper on the table, she felt his gaze on the side of her face. “It used to be. I find myself desiring something else these days.”

 

“Oh?” she prompted, unable to look at him. She schooled her expression into one of indifference, crumpling the wrapping paper into a tight ball in her fist.

 

“I have been realising, lately, that life is passing us by, Scully. When we started this you weren’t even thirty yet. We were young, vibrant, enthusiastic. I’m beginning to think we’ve missed the bigger picture.” He took a sip of wine, tapping the glass with his finger. “When was the last time you went on a date, Scully?”

 

She froze. “I can’t remember.”

 

“My last date was with a 1-900 chat line.” He made a noise of frustration. “Three years ago.” She blushed as an image of Mulder flashed in her mind, masturbating to the sultry voice of a woman who charged him three dollars per minute to get off. “It was a truly sad reflection of loneliness.”

 

“I thought drinking wine by myself was sad,” Scully sighed. She tossed the paper ball at the kitsch trash can she kept next to the television. It went in easily.

 

“Nothing but net,” Mulder murmured, impressed by her aim. “You’re not drinking alone.”

 

Scully sat back against the couch, folding her legs underneath her body. “I was until you turned up. I’ve no real friends left in my life, Mulder. Besides you and those crazy bastards – the gunmen.” Seven years ago she would have run a thousand miles from a friendship with three paranoid bachelors living in a high-tech electronics den with six locks on the door. Now, she was strangely fond of them.

 

“Looks like you’re questioning your path in life, too?” Mulder asked.

 

“No. Not like that. I don’t want to _change_ what I have. I just think, sometimes, that I would like something more.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m just talking nonsense.” She drained her glass, resting her head back against the cushion. “Mulder, do you remember your first kiss?”

 

“Yeah. It was a disaster.”

 

Scully laughed. “Mine too. I wore braces, which doesn’t make for a graceful kissing experience... but do you remember that feeling of excitement? The flutter of expectation? That incredible swell of anticipation as you know something _amazing_ is about to happen?”

 

“I think boys have different thoughts about first kisses, Scully. I was mostly wondering how many seconds I had to kiss her before I was allowed to touch her boobs. The answer is – more than nine seconds.” He grinned, that delightfully boyish expression that made it all too easy for Scully to imagine him as a gangly, awkward teenager. “She nearly broke my wrist. My _right_ wrist too, which put my solo activities in jeopardy.”

 

Scully laughed. “But when you were copping a feel, were you filled with excitement?”

 

“To the point of near explosion,” he confirmed with a nod.

 

“That’s what I want, Mulder. Excitement, something so thrilling it knocks my socks off.”

 

Mulder smiled. “It would take something really exciting to knock _those_ socks off, Scully.” He gestured to the pink fluffy articles. “I bet your toes are warm in those.”

 

All of her felt warm, now. With the pleasant buzz of alcohol running through her veins, the joy of receiving his mother’s gorgeous earrings and the pleasure of having him here, she felt... contented. So much so that she never wanted the moment to end. “More wine?”

 

“No, I’m alright, thanks.” He gave the golden liquid a dirty look.

 

“Stay for awhile,” Scully said, pushing the boundaries of her own confidence. “It’s still early.” Strange, hadn’t she been thinking just awhile ago how _late_ it was?

 

“I get the feeling that... if I stay any longer... something could happen here, Scully. I’m very intuitive. It’s the curse of a profiler.” He wrung his hands together, studying her expression.

 

“You’re not that intuitive,” she countered, emboldened by the alcohol content in the chardonnay. “If you were you’d have known I’ve been prepared for ‘something to happen’ for months.” She glanced away from his face. “It’s been a lot of days since the Millennium, Mulder.”

 

He looked surprised. “Where’s my Scully and what have you done with her?”

 

“Your Scully?” She replied. The gap between their bodies had reduced significantly and she could smell the faint grape scent of wine on his breath. “Presumptuous.”

 

His fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I’ve been a presumptuous pain in the ass since the day you met me.” He kissed her then – an altogether different kiss to the chaste one they’d shared at midnight some months back. He tasted of wine and desire, his tongue brushing hers with some measure of uncertainty. Scully placed her hands on either side of his face, drawing their bodies closer.

 

“You sure about this, Scully?” Mulder asked when she straddled his thighs. At the apex of her legs she felt his arousal, pressing against his jeans, warm through the fabric of her old sweats. She couldn’t have stopped now, even if she’d wanted to. She nodded, unwilling to break their kiss.

 

His hands were under her shirt, caressing her back, testing the weight of her breasts in his palms, coaxing her nipples into hardened points. She released a breathy sigh against his mouth, having forgotten how immensely pleasurable it felt to be touched by another human being. The sound elicited from her throat brought a groan rumbling through Mulder’s chest, their kiss deepening with urgency.

 

“I have to be honest, Scully... I doubt this will be as lengthy or as thorough as you deserve.” His cock strained achingly against his jeans.

 

“S’okay,” she murmured, fiddling ineptly at his belt. “You can do better next time.” His hands took over, making light work of the belt whilst she pulled off her t-shirt and shimmied out of her faded sweats. Mulder pushed his jeans down over his thighs, baring himself to her. She swallowed audibly, wondering whether or not he was the best person to break seven years of celibacy with. On the other hand... she was more than ready to accommodate him.

 

She straddled him again, positioning her body just over him. His hands settled on her thighs, his eyes searching hers. “This wasn’t how I expected tonight to go,” he admitted, tracing circles over her hipbones with his thumbs. She was naked and nowhere near as abashed as she’d imagined she would be.

 

“I don’t see how it could have went any other way,” she told him.

 

They came together with breathy sighs and deep groans. Mulder stayed still within her for long seconds, as though enjoying the sensation of being sheathed by her warmth. Slowly, she moved, resisting the urge to ride him frantically. Arousal tightened in her stomach, an aching tension that yearned to be released. She’d desired this man from the moment she’d walked into his dusty basement office seven years ago.

 

He kissed her deeply, tightening his arms around her, running his hands over her naked body as though relishing the feel of skin. She knew they would come quickly, in a blinding flash of pent-up desire. It didn’t matter, because there was an urgency to their union, and it seemed fitting that their first time would be like this; feral, wild, unrepentant fucking.

 

Their bodies slammed together, so nosily she wondered if her neighbours would hear. The sofa shifted several inches across the wooden floor, scraping loudly. It didn’t matter. None of it did. In those moments the only thing that mattered was Mulder inside of her, filling her body in the way no one ever had before – not once in her whole adult life.

 

They came together, stiffening as their orgasms cascaded through their loins. Scully arched her back, mewling his name as though she were a wild animal. Her pleasure only seemed to strengthen the intensity of his release, as he filled her body with his hot seed. Her prevailing thought, as his fingers dug painfully into her hips bones was, _at least I’m better than a sex-line operator_.

 

Sagging against him, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, tasting the salty layer of sweat on his skin. “This changes things,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. He hadn’t moved to remove himself from her body and she was content to stay where she was, wrapped in his embrace, feeling his heart thumping against his chest.

 

“It does,” she concurred in a whisper. “But I’m fine with it.”

 

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he said, kissing her ear.  

 

End.

 

Don’t forget to throw some kudos and comments! And check out Shazza777 and her story for the prompt SHOCK. You can also check out last week's prompt fics for CANDLES (Angel in Candlelight) and MISTLETOE (Mistletoe)


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